


Of bridges, burnt and rebuilt.

by Cerberos



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, M/M, Masaomi PoV, Not Canon Compliant, Sappy Ending, akashi family feels, i will forever portray him as misunderstood dad, its hard being masaomi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberos/pseuds/Cerberos
Summary: Masaomi was tired of being a bystander in Seijuurou’s life.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madridistagoblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madridistagoblue/gifts).



> Jenny!! The mere mention of Akashi family is enough to make me cry buckets but I really wanted to write this one for you. Especially with my writing slump, angst was probably the best way to get out of it.

The breezy September evening changed hues like a chameleon. Oranges and reds mixed with soft purples, painting the sky as the sun immersed itself onto the horizon. Inside the spacious gym, a whistle blew sharp, signaling the end of the match. Tired chorus of groans and grunts were heard, along with squeaks of basketball shoes as the players dragged themselves to the bench.

Akashi Masaomi watched as the teenage boy slumped on the seat, wiping a towel on his sweat-stained face before putting it over his head. He looked around and saw Masaomi standing near the door. They nodded once to each other in acknowledgement before Seijuro picked up his belongings and started making his way towards his father. Masaomi noticed how his shoulders slumped further and how his feet dragged just a little, as if in resignation. He chose not to comment on it.

His teammates rushed up to him, giving him one armed hugs and ruffling his hair. He smiled a little and shook hands with them, stopping for a bit to chat with one on the opposite team, a brunet of the same height. The boy talked enthusiastically, with hand gestures and all, and Seijuro smiled warmly at him, talking when needed before pulling him into a hug and bidding goodbye. Masaomi raised a regal brow at that, filing the information away for later. With casual steps and a blank face, he approached Masaomi, showing no traces of the soft expression he had whilst talking to that boy.

Maybe a son doesn't have to show emotions to his father, he supposed.

 

"Your team won?"

Seijuro didn't even look at him, choosing to gaze outside the car window. The traffic was hellish at this time of the day, stop lights at every signal making them both very weary. Masaomi knew it was a question his son was tired of hearing but he grappled at any tiny thing that could start a conversation.

"Yes. We did." He spoke routinely, the insanely bored tone seeping into the politeness of it. "You didn't see the match." It was a statement, not a question. Seijuro didn't ask questions. He knew the answers.

"Sorry, son. I missed it. This merger is drawing out longer than we anticipated."

Masaomi internally begged for the lights to change, breathing a relieved 'thank you' when they did. Brick walls might have responded better. They did not speak to each other until they reached home. This was new, had been mortifyingly new for a while, and Masaomi was afraid of opening his mouth. He was _not_ prepared for situations like this, period.

Seijuro said nothing when he got out of the car. He never did.  

 

It was true he hadn't paid attention at all in the upbringing of his only son until he had lost the Winter Cup finals more than a year and a half ago. Only then had he been informed of his son's issues and how they had taken a toll on him, both mentally and emotionally.

He had been trying since then, unaware of what to do or how to repair or even create a bridge between them, for he was sure that the only bond they shared now was of the bloodline. Showing up to matches, picking him up from school whenever he could, cooking dinners and trying rather unsuccessfully to chitchat with his craftily tight lipped son were few examples of his embarrassing attempts at kindling their problematic father-son relationship. 

Nearly two years had slipped by and all that he knew about his own son could be read from his public records.

Regret and guilt for time lost and progressively losing plagued him from not giving up even though sometimes - _most_ times - it felt like a lost cause.

 

He singed his tongue while tasting the curry. Seijuro raised his eyebrows but refrained from commenting. Masaomi wished he would. At least a joke or a snarky quip would be enormously preferred than the stifling silence. But that was wishful thinking. He served the curry with rice and a bowl of miso soup after setting it down on the dinner table.

"I hope you like it..." His lips pulled up slightly at the corners to form a weak semblance of a smile, hoping it would echo. Seijuro didn't thank him before eating. The fragile smile evaporated into thin air. Maybe sons doesn't have to thank their fathers for every little thing.

Seijuro ate quietly; politely and cleverly dodging the bits and pieces of casual talk he started. Only a single offhand remark about the chirpy brunet whom he had hugged at the end of the match could evoke a small discernible smile on his face before it was lost to the wind. Masaomi silently made a careful note of that. Seijuro left the dinner table silently, not waiting for his father to finish up as well.

 

It was almost midnight by the time he finished catching up on work in his study. He stretched and rolled his cranked up shoulders before strolling down to his room whilst absentmindedly switching off the lights in the hallway. He saw Seijuro's door slightly ajar and peeked in to see him studying for his test. Glasses sliding halfway on the bridge of his nose, the only source of light in the room switched on at the moment illuminating the various books strewn across the desk, phone lightly perched atop one of them and crooning out soothing instrumental music. He looked frighteningly focused as he diligently jotted down points on his notebook. 

"Goodnight, Seijuro."

He was so engrossed that Masaomi was sure he hadn't heard him. He closed the door quietly. He thought about what to make for tomorrow's dinner when he passed a lively photograph sitting upon the mantle whilst proceeding to his room. Retracing his steps, he picked it up.

A man, a woman and a young boy were in a garden when the cherry blossom trees surrounding them were in full bloom. The woman in the picture was laughing, her eyes twinkling and her skin glowing and her flaming red hair which the wind was playing with like they were harp strings, clashing wonderfully with the soft pink dress. Her arms were outstretched as if she was beckoning someone to hug her, poised to lift them up and into her arms - which was the case as a little cherry haired child was running up to her, clutching a huge white horse plushie in his hands and beaming like the radiant sun. A stoic man stood behind her, strong and silent, yet his face was warm as he looked at his son and his wife. He looked content to be there and witness the moment as the sakura petals swivelled around them, casting their billowy magic to the scene. The picture was taken at just the right moment, just the right time in just the right way that by looking at it, Masaomi felt wave upon waves of regret and nostalgia crash upon him. He could still hear the echoes of her musical laughter and Seijuro's excited squeals when she had picked him up and held him close.

"Shiori......" He whispered reverently, a finger stroked her cheerful face and his eyes began to glisten, "You must return, for Seijuro's sake.....Will you please forgive me?"

A silent tear rolled down his cheek and he hastened to rub it away whilst he held their picture gingerly on one hand. A click sounded behind him and he looked over his shoulder to find a pair of ruby red eyes calmly assessing him. He nervously placed 'Shiori' back at its proper place and walked briskly towards his room to retire for the night.

 

Akashi Masaomi felt like a mere passer-by as he listened to the school principal, a balding middle aged man with thick spectacles who went on and on about how many victories Seijuro had heaped onto the school's prestigious name. He smiled enthusiastically, ushering Masaomi inside the spacious room with kind words. "Akashi-san, you must be very proud...your son has once again swept all the honors!"

He looked more pleased about him than Masaomi himself. He flicked through the meritorious report about Seijuro, elucidating every point he found worth voicing - Masaomi was convinced he was just reading out the entire document - whilst Masaomi nodded along to what was said like a dumb intern at a corporate meeting.

"He has topped all the exams with merit, stood First in all of the debates, won all the Shogi competitions,  _and_  manages the Student Council so efficiently! He has the led the basketball team to victory in all tournaments this year and his skills..."

The monotonous words droned on continuously until he was able to tune them out as white noise. He knew, glaringly, that he had contributed absolutely _nothing_ towards his son's successes. It was Seijuro's mother, always his mother who was the sole strength behind his all-round achievements. Masaomi had never done anything worthy for the so-called 'family' of his. Every company he took over, every line of business he diversified to, breaking the boundaries of his conglomerate's reach with each venture, collecting recognition and accolades year after year, for what? His own son was a total stranger to him. And he had lost the most significant person in his life while trying to be the best in every field an Akashi explored. The principal's final words shook him to the core. "Akashi-san, you _are_ Seijuro-kun's father, are you not?"

Masaomi stumbled into awareness, "Yes...yes, I am. He.." - he cleared his throat, steadying himself and looked at the dean in the eye with a practiced smile - "..has a brilliant tutor. Very highly recommended. Top of the line of professionals. And, of course, Seijuro works very hard....as you very well know."

 

Stung, shamed and humiliated, Masaomi drove home, setting his jaw, hanging his head and shying away from his son. It wasn't until dinnertime when he broached the topic.

"Congratulations Seijuro. You have done well, son. I am proud." Carefully practiced words flowed without showing even the slightest of tremors; Masaomi would have patted himself on his back if he weren't weighed down by the mountain of guilt in his chest. Hearing them out loud, in the actual setting and not to his bathroom mirror, those words felt empty, shallow and weak in comparison. Seijuro was right in ignoring him, there were so many better things to do than have a conversation with someone who never had appreciated them.

Surprisingly enough, Seijuro looked up from his food, met his eyes and held them. Assessing, analysing whilst being reticent. The one thing Masaomi had could stake a claim on were those eyes. The colour may have been inherited from his stellar mother, but the intensity was a carbon copy of him. Like father, like son. And though Masaomi had used them to his advantage countless times to make his rivals and business partners squirm in their seats, he never thought that one day, he would get a taste of his own medicine. And _boy_ , was it bitter. It took a dreadfully sizeable amount of inner struggle to not twitch under that gaze.

"Do you still love Mother?"

Masaomi blinked. That...was not what he was expecting. _What was he expecting?_ He shook his head. "Yes...yes. I am-I mean, I love her. Yes, I do."

Seijuro gave a curt nod and went back to eating. Masaomi struggled to swallow his food, questions eating away at his every nerve and tongue-tied to voice them out loud. It wasn't until his son stood up to leave for his room, that he turned around to whisper rather exasperatedly as if he had been disappointed that it wasn't common knowledge, "She loves you too." 

Seijuro didn't continue, even though it was clear that he knew how anxious his father would be after hearing something like that. He snapped his door shut on his father's face when Masaomi abruptly shook out of his shell shocked stupor and rushed behind him, eager to know more. Sighing, he retired for the night. He had no choice but to leave it there, his thoughts muddled more than before.

 

The next morning, Seijuro requested the customary monthly tuition fees for his private tutor. Masaomi had previously engaged many, proficient in their fields of expertise but for the past few years, Seijuro had stuck to only one of them.

"Bring him home one day," Masaomi looked up after signing the check and handing it to his son, "he guided you so well."

Seijuro nodded, pocketing the check, turning to leave the study.

Masaomi drummed his fingers on the desk before casually slipping in, "By any chance, you know where Shiori lives?" Or what he hoped to be casual. Was it casual? Could Seijuro tell? He hoped not. His son was sharper and keener than him at reading facial and vocal cues. It wasn't enough that Seijuro had inherited the infamous steel nerves of the Akashi family but also Shiori's too. That woman's tenacity could make a roaring fire breathing dragon look like a cute kitten.

"I should be asking you that, Father." He quipped smartly with a smirk before leaving for practice.

 

Seijuro was a hero at his school. Everywhere he went, he commanded attention, respect and loyalty. The moment he entered the room, students would stop talking to listen to what he had to say. On the basketball court, be it a serious match or just a simple training, his teammates would wait for his command, ready to charge. Even amongst his opponents, he was revered. Coaches, teachers and students alike took his word as final. He was a worthy rival, a trusted teammate and a reputed leader. Masaomi would have worried that his son's exterior might make him unapproachable, but that was not the case at all.

A colourful bunch of fellow basketball players would sometimes surround him after matches to talk to him or take pictures with him or go on outings with him, picking him up from home with rather amusing excuses. Masaomi had a hard time trying not to chuckle at some of them. And that was apart from his own team's shenanigans. Seijuro was always happy to see them, would come back home having a smile softening his features and a warm glow radiating from within.

One time he had come home from one of his meet ups with past teammates of Rakuzan wearing eyeliner and bright rainbow nail polish - Masaomi had seared that pictured into his memory to stay forever. He didn't dare to ask anything that night. It started happening with alarming regularity - he wasn't opposed to it one bit but when a son comes home with colorful hair clips and clip on earrings, any father would be dying to know more about it. Maybe even shop for better ones. Expensive ones. After all the cosmetic and accessories industry was also covered under the Akashi wing, so it wouldn't hurt him to talk to his father about it, would it? He would never know. And almost always, the brunet from the other team - who Masaomi found out was the captain of Seirin Basketball Team - would accompany him. It had taken almost about three weeks of broken awkward conversation to glean that information from his unforthcoming son.

All in all, he was a proud father, a father only in name. Shiori had been right, as always. He had heaped on tasks after tasks hoping to give his son maximum guidance on tackling the trials of life, using his wealth and worth at every turn and ignoring personal contact. He had made his own son break from pressure and dismissed the pleas of his wife, citing disgustingly uncreative excuses every time. Now, when he was forced to come to terms with the issues his son had and make genuine contact, it was too late.

He wished to be there for his son, guide him, offer some sort of advice from time to time, even have the slightest bit of bond with his son that would make Seijuro want to come to his dad in case of an emergency. He wished that more than all the wealth in the world combined. But he found no beginning and no end. His bland, colourless life dragged on by without Shiori.

 

The takeover ended, and in came the onslaught of congratulatory letters and newspaper articles, praising him for his work, reputable business practices and shrewd negotiating skills. It was yet another diverse undertaking to be adopted and nurtured under the umbrella of Akashi conglomerate. But they all meant nothing except for the blaise sense of satisfaction that last a few meagre moments. He longed for the company of his wife and son to wish him on his success and share his joy. Over a nicely cooked dinner. Peppered with lively chatter and delicious food. Maybe. That was a good dream.

But, he didn't tell Seijuro. His son would have known, of course, but he didn't wish him either. Maybe it was not major enough to mention in the passing. Like, hey dad, way to go on the takeover! He shook his head, cringing at the image. His son didn't talk like that. He should stop listening to the glorifying stories of his co-workers' children. Masaomi slipped back into the routine as if nothing happened and prepared dinner.

 

Sunday rolled in, a day he fully intended to just lie on the bed and drift between sleep and awareness when he saw the object on his bedside table. A vase of flowers, vibrant in their freshness and colours, with a card tucked between.

 

_I love you, Father, for all that you have given me......and for all that you didn't._

_Happy Birthday._

_Love,_

_Seijuro._

 

Masaomi shot up from his bed and stormed towards Seijuro's room, nearly tripping on his way. His son had remembered! His precious son had completely made the day he thought would be dull like any other day. He had always thought Seijuro was a mama's boy, but now, life without his mother must have brought about a change. Perhaps all those dinners with his mediocre cooking paid off after all.

The room was empty. He must have left for practice or to his tutor's place. Masaomi hid his disappointment, his brief wave of euphoria rapidly dissipating, as he took in the tidy room. Seijuro had always taken special care of all the things his mother had ever given him. A rattle that looked like a unicorn, the white horse plushie that resembled the horse they had given him when he was seven, Yukimaru, even the first basketball that she had given him when he was just five. He felt warmth blossom inside him when he saw the violin that he had offered to Seijuro when he was just six, leaning next to the old worn out basketball. There were a few framed pictures that lined the top of the bookcase and a few photo albums which held smiling pictures of their family. Seijuro, Shiori and him. When time was measured in moments lived to the fullest. 

Shame and guilt engulfed him as he realised the sad truth. While he had let the pieces of his precious family fall apart, his teenaged son had risen to hold his mother and father together in his disturbed, young mind. _How could he have been blind for so long?_ Shiori was right to have left him. And pretty soon, his son would leave the same way. Taking a shuddering breath, he shook himself out of the toxic musings.

_No_.

His son loved him.

And he was going to show him that he did too.

 

He gave the staff the evening off. He prepared his son something special that he could whip up without spoiling it with his laughable cooking skills - pork cutlet bowl and tofu soup. They could eat dinner and maybe watch a movie or play a game of shogi or basketball. He was a bit rusty but he could pick it up soon. If Seijuro was willing that is. He won't give up in his efforts. No matter how pitiful they were. An Akashi never gave up. Not even against his own. Even if Seijuro was more of an Akashi than Masaomi himself was. And if the beautiful birthday message was any indication, then it meant Seijuro was willing to make him a part of his life.

He placed the vase of a variety of flowers as a centrepiece and waited for his son to arrive. He made note to keep them as fresh as possible for as long as he could before placing them in between book leaves later on. He should probably research on what flowers they were and what they conveyed, considering the range of them.

Seijuro entered the house with cake in his hand and a wide smile on his lips. His face was glowing but his eyes held a mischievous glint. Masaomi took the box from his hand and set it on the table before he could extend a hesitant hand to his son. "Thank you....for the message, Seijuro."

He shook it twice, "Happy birthday, Father." He continued to hold on to his hand as he spoke, "I hope you don't mind but I have brought home a surprise guest.....my private tutor."

Masaomi groaned internally. The one time he really wanted to spend time with his son, he had to be interrupted. All he wanted to do was be with Seijuro on his birthday, who loved him after all. Love was a big word but Seijuro had said that, so it meant...something, did it not?

He counted to five to calm his frustrations and put on the practiced poker face with the diplomatic smile intact whilst internally subjecting himself to a long night of civil conversations about politics and economy and whatnot. He was busy bidding goodbye to his dreams of a friendly Shogi match - he was planning on losing to make Seijuro more comfortable - when the guest made themselves known.

His façade shattered as his mouth hung open when he saw who was at the door. One hand poised on a slender hip and the other loosely around Seijuro's shoulders, fiery red hair falling freely down to the waist, intelligent scarlet eyes piercing his armour and straight through his very soul, mouth curved slightly at the blatant shock written all over his face, Akashi Shiori stood in all her glory, like the rightful queen that she was.

Masaomi couldn't move a single muscle, not even to close his mouth, as he stared at her, unbelieving.

She strolled in, graciously and majestically, erasing the past with a swish of words, "Well Seijuro, it looks like it is going to be a quiet evening after all, and oh! We _have_ to remove that disturbingly unsightly statue that is standing right in the living room dear, it doesn't actually go with the silent sophistication of the setting, don't you think?" 

Tears flow freely as he bursts out laughing. He ran and hugged her nearly crushing her, lifting her off her feet and circling her around in the air. Shiori laughed and hugged him back just as tight. It sounded like a peal of bells. He felt a fresh onslaught of tears at how _much_ he missed hearing that sound. And how it had long faded by the time they had split. He brought her back down, still hugging her, reluctant to let go. Shiori smiled up at him, tears making her eyes glitter like liquid fire as she reached up to wipe the tears off his face. He kissed her and rested his forehead against hers. Apologies a prayer on his tongue.

_I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry._

Shiori kissed him back, winding her arms around his shoulders. Acceptance.

Seijuro stood a bit away, smiling at the scene. His phone vibrated in his pocket, indicating a text. He knew from whom it would be. He picked it up and chuckled. Shiori beckoned over Seijuro; he quickly texted and put away his phone. He rushed to hug them both, kissing his mother on the cheek and looking at his father fondly.

Masaomi hugged them back. He held in his arms the two people who had the power to make or break him. And he would rather perish than let them fall from his grasp again. A second chance. A new lease of life with two people he would willingly put his life down for.

 

Well, three people. If the boy who just made Seijuro blush like a schoolgirl would make himself known soon. He sent a meaningful look to his wife. Shiori just smiled wider. One step ahead of him, as always.    

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the dynamics of this beautiful family without having to deal with the death part and this is what happened.  
> Reach me on my [tumblr](http://cerberosthehellguard.tumblr.com/) for rants, hcs and general spazzing.


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